


Burnout

by Sock_Lobster



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, Public Humiliation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 04:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10210115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sock_Lobster/pseuds/Sock_Lobster
Summary: Stan goes from unhappy fuck buddy to unwilling peace offering.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written because of late night talk on the Stancest Discord, though there's no Stancest in this. Just gotta spread that blame around.
> 
> Absolutely nothing good happens to Stan in this fic.

Jimmy’s got a problem with the head of another club. He’s not ready to start a fight with the man yet, but after one of their guys took a shot at one of the other man’s guys, things are ramping up. Jimmy’s smashing shit in the home bar to take out the frustration leftover from beating the dumbass who caused this all to hell.

Everyone but Stan’s cleared out. He’s sitting in a booth in the far corner from the destruction, nursing a beer just to have something to do while he waits. Stan knows what he’s gotta do here, and it’s probably better if he keeps drinking.

“That fucking dumbass screwed everything up!” Jimmy says. He’s got a barstool in his hands that he’s been using it to smash the other stools. “Now Croaker’s gonna come howling for blood before the rest of the club ever gets here. We’re fucking screwed!” The stool goes flying into the wall by the bathrooms.

“Isn’t there some way you can placate the guy?” Stan asks in the silence after the crash. “Just to hold him over long enough for back-up to get here. Give him something.”

“You want me to bend over for that son of a bitch?” Jimmy roars.

Stan drains his beer and says after burping, “No, just, you already beat Vince to a mush. Drop him off at Croaker’s place and say you handled it for him.”

Jimmy laughs. “It ain’t that simple, _Stanley._ Blood’s not gonna be good enough for a man like that. He’s gonna want something more than reciprocation.”

“Like what?”

“He’s gonna want to have something to hold over me. He’s gonna want humiliation or he’s gonna come take it.”

“So fake a little groveling. Who’s going to know except for a bunch of guys who you’ll run off soon anyway? That little bit of pride worth dying over?” Stan asks. Stan’s never held dignity over survival. If he did, he’d be long dead in a ditch instead of here with a biker like Jimmy Snakes.

“The crew’ll know. I can’t have that,” Jimmy says, though now he looks thoughtful. “But maybe something else would work.”

“Do that, whatever it is,” Stan says.

Jimmy stomps his way across the bar and all the debris on the floor to lean over Stan. He smirks. “You still got any pride left, Stan? Or did you drop it with your pants?”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, Jimmy,” Stan says. He plays this breezy enough and Jimmy will lighten up a bit before getting down to business. Stan’s ass’ll thank him for that. “If I gotta take it from anyone, who better than you?”

That puts a pleased grin in place of the smirk. “No one better,” Jimmy says. “And everyone round here knows what you do for me.”

Stan glows with pride and shrivels with humiliation at the same time. It’s a weird combination. Then again, so are he and Jimmy.

“Anything I can do for you now?” he asks. It’s why he’s here. Let Jimmy fuck some of his blind rage out, and then they can all get down to surviving this fuck-up.

Jimmy grabs Stan by the collar of his leather jacket and hauls him out of the booth seat to slam him down on the booth table. Stan’s face lands right in a ring of condensation left by his beer. It doesn’t stop the sting of the impact.

“Yeah, I think there’s a couple things you can do for me,” Jimmy says. “First off, drop the pants.”

“You got it, boss,” Stan says, and he undoes his fly. He pushes his jeans down as far as he can while held to the table, and it’s plenty far enough for access anyway. Stan didn’t bother with putting his underwear back on after prepping.

Jimmy checks him with a couple fingers thrust all the way inside. It really is just a spot check. He’s not much for foreplay.

“You’re all ready, aren’t you?” Jimmy says. “You’ve gotten real good at taking it.”

“Yeah, well,” Stan says. He shrugs against the table. Just because it’s true doesn’t mean Stan’s gotta sit here and listen to it.

Without ceremony, Jimmy undoes his fly and shoves his dick inside. Stan scrabbles on the tabletop with his fingernails, but he makes himself hold still against the discomfort. Jimmy’s a fair guy, really. He’ll always give Stan a reach around after, and he’s not into the whole beating the shit out of sex partners schtick some of the other guys have. He will definitely make things harder on Stan if Stan moves around too much though.

Jimmy’s already hard enough. He fucks like a goddamn jackhammer when he’s angry, and Stan does his best to hold still and open and take it. His best is pretty good by now, if he says so himself.

“God yeah,” Jimmy grunts when he gets into a rhythm. It’s a goddamn brutal one. Jimmy’s hands keep a bruising grip on Stan’s hips, and Stan hasn’t any choice but to keep still and keep quiet.

He’s heard that getting fucked can be enjoyable for its own sake, and he’s even found some fun distraction while lubing and stretching himself out a few times. Jimmy doesn’t pay any attention to that, though. The fucking’s not for Stan to enjoy, even if Jimmy’s a pal with a friendly hand afterwards.

That’s not to say it doesn’t do anything at all for him. Getting fucked by a big man, hips pounding, Jimmy’s little grunts of satisfaction as he uses Stan’s ass-- Stan can’t say it doesn’t get to him. Mostly, he can’t say it because his dick always speaks up. Stan’s given up on denying this gets him hard, even if it doesn’t get him off.

“You’re getting easier to fuck,” Jimmy says when he takes a break from the rapid thrusting.

Stan says, “Is that a problem?” He means it sarcastically. It comes out painfully sincere. Stan’s gotta work on that.

“No, no,” Jimmy says. He slaps Stan’s ass and pulls back a little. He stays there and says, “Makes you the best man for the job I got in mind.”

“Does that job involve bending over and getting fucked up the ass? Because I’m already there, boss,” Stan says. He laughs to show that this doesn’t bother him. At all. None whatsoever.

Jimmy laughs, too, and Stan thinks things might be improving. Then Jimmy says, “Not necessarily, but I’m gonna _say_ it does. Gotta ride over to Croaker’s first, though.”

“What? You want to fuck me in front of him? How’s that--” Jimmy slaps Stan’s ass again. Stan falls quiet.

“You know, I would just love that. Have to keep it in mind for after we wreck him, but for this job, I’m going to need something else from you. I’m gonna offer you up to him”

Stan laughs. Jimmy doesn’t. Stan says, “Are you kidding me?”

“Think about it. Everyone knows you’re my favorite.” Stan squirms a little. Jimmy keeps going. “I go to him and say, ‘Here, take a ride’, that’ll keep him happy for another couple days. He’ll think he got something out of me.”

Stan tries pushing himself up on his elbows only to get pushed back down with a hand fisted in his hair. “You can’t be serious! Besides, what makes you think he’d even want to?”

“I don’t think he’ll want to. He’s got himself a fine ol’ lady, but it’s the offer that counts.” Jimmy leans down and gives Stan’s shoulder a kiss. He almost never does any kissing or anything else that could be taken as affection despite all the fucking. Stan enjoys it to a pathetic degree. “You saying you won’t do a little lying for me?” Jimmy asks.

“You--” Stan swallows and tries again. “You sure it’s just a show? He won’t take the offer?”

“Bet my bike he won’t even touch you. The man’s only got eyes for ladies, and his ol’ lady has a mean right hook anyway.” Jimmy runs one hand up Stan’s side and down again. “The point’s not the fucking. It’s the giving him something. He doesn’t have to actually want it so long as it’s something he knows _I_ want.”

Jimmy kisses Stan’s neck now. _I want..._

Stan closes his eyes and says, “Okay, boss.”

“That’s my pal,” Jimmy says. He straightens and resumes fucking. This time he’s got a hand on the back of Stan’s neck that Stan can tell himself is affectionate. The thrusts aren’t any gentler, though.

When Jimmy comes inside his ass with erratic jerks, Stan breathes into the tabletop and waits for him to pull out. Jimmy doesn’t give him a handjob this time, and Stan’s not sure he’d even want one.

 

The ride to Croaker’s is one of the worst Stan’s ever ridden. His ass is already sore as hell and Jimmy makes him ride bitch rather than come on his own bike. He said it was part of the show, and Stan’s feeling pretty on display, just going down the highway with a handful of the guys from the crew.

When they get to the bar, there’s more bikes lined up outside than a relaxed night in probably merits. It looks like the beginnings of a war party to Stan.

Juke pulls up in his old hot rod behind Jimmy. Juke’s stupid, flashy car is the car of choice when they’re transporting something a bike won’t carry, and Stan watches with a kind of detached pity as Vince’s sorry, bleeding shape gets hauled out of the trunk. He started all this shit, but Stan’s not sure even that meathead deserves whatever’s waiting for him inside.

“It’s just a show, right?” Stan asks Jimmy before they go in.

“Just a show,” Jimmy says easily. There’s a not hint that any of this gets to him. If Jimmy’s not worried, why should Stan be? “You’ll be fine.”

They go inside and the noise in the room stops. Someone even unplugs the jukebox. 

Jimmy casually puts his hands up as probably about fifty knives, brass knuckles and assorted guns get pulled out. Stan puts his own hands up. He is definitely not casual about it.

“What the hell are you doing here, you sonuvabitch?” a grating voice calls out. It comes from a man sitting at the bar with a hot woman on his lap. His voice is reminiscent of a frog.

Jimmy says, “Brought you a couple gifts, Croaker. I know one of my guys put one of yours in the hospital, but I wanted to come make sure you knew he didn’t speak for me when he did that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy says. He waves his hand at Juke, who calls out the door into the parking lot for Vince. Vince gets shoved inside and winds up a bleeding heap on the filthy floor. He’s crying, Stan notices.

“Is that the guy?” Croaker asks. He stares down at Vince with neither hatred nor disgust, just faint interest.

“That’s the guy. We even brought his bike for you outside. You can do what you like with it,” Jimmy says.

“We’d have this anyway,” Croaker says. “When we came down on you like a sack of bricks.”

Some of the guys around cheer. Coraker waves his hand, and they go quiet.

Jimmy says, “I know. And I know that it’s my responsibility what my men do, so I figured I’d offer you something personal from me.” He reaches out and grabs Stan by the back of the head to push him forward. “This here’s my personal favorite, and he’s here to do something personal for you, if you like.”

Snickers go around the room. Croaker looks Stan up and down with that same lack of emotion he used for Vince. Stan thinks he also looks like a fucking frog.

“This a joke, Snakes?” he asks.

“Naw, you know my rep, Croaker. This is what I’ve got.”

“Heard you were a cocksucker, yeah.” There’s the snickering again.

“That’s his job,” Jimmy says with a thumb jerked at Stan. Stan stares at a beer bottle on the bar and says nothing. Anything he could say would probably get him killed by someone. Might even be Jimmy.

“Is that so?” Croaker says. The room’s full of cruel chuckles, but he sounds flat as ever. The woman on his lap leans down and whispers something in his ear, and Croaker says to her, “Don’t worry. Not my type, sugar.”

Stan relaxes just a tiny bit. Then Croaker says, “But I think he’s about Hugo’s.”

Everyone in the room stops laughing. A few guys in the corner step out of the way as everyone from Croaker’s club turns to look at a man sitting at a table behind them. He’s a very large man with scars all over his face. He kinda looks like he got in a fight with a tiger or something ridiculous, that’s how scarred he is.

“Whaddya think, Hugo?” Croaker says. “You wanna stand in for me here?”

Hugo finishes the beer he’s holding. He looks Stan over and shrugs. “He’s alright. I could do him.”

Stan opens his mouth to protest. Jimmy smacks him in the back of the head. Stan considers his options here; Stan considers himself _screwed_. This was just supposed to be a gesture. Jimmy can’t actually let that mountain of an ugly fuck have him.

“Boss,” Stan whispers.

Jimmy whispers back, “That little bit of pride worth dying over?” Louder, he says, “If that’s gonna set things right here, Croaker, your man can have at him.”

Croaker grins. “Sounds good. Knew you were a smart man, Snakes. Hugo, come fuck his bitch.”

Stan gets shoved forward by Jimmy. He ends up tripping over Vince and going down on hands and knees. Everyone around laughs.

This can’t be happening. It’s just a fucking show. Stan stares at a smear of blood on the floor and waits for someone to tell him it’s a joke. _Haha, we’re not really gonna watch you get fucked by an ogre in riding leathers. Get up and have a drink._

Instead, a large hand comes down on his neck. It grabs him hard and holds him still as another hand yanks his jeans hard enough to pop the button off. Stan’s ass goes on full display to everyone in the bar.

“Not bad,” Hugo says. “Someone toss me some slick.”

There’s a _whap_ like Hugo catching a bottle out of the air. Further away, Stan hears some guys give another one shit for just carrying lube around like that, but that doesn’t keep his attention for very long. A gigantic, slick finger rubs around Stan’s hole, distracting him from anything else. It thrusts inside, and Stan whimpers. He cleaned up after Jimmy fucked him, but he’s still so damn sore. He can’t stop his hips trying to pull away from the intrusion.

“None of that,” Hugo says. He shoves Stan’s head down to the floor, and Stan’s hands slide out from beneath him. His face lands in some of Vince’s blood, and Stan finds himself staring at Vince’s shattered face on level. Vince is still crying.

Stan tells him, “Fuck you, you idiot,” as Hugo shoves more fingers inside. He’s not stretching Stan, just getting him wet. Stan closes his eyes and tries to think of anything other than this.

He’s been fucked. He’s been fucked hard as hell before and lived. He can get through this. He can just think of something happier in the meantime, like winning the lottery or breaking his toe on a brick wall.

Then Hugo says, “Who’s got a wrapper?” This time, a handful of tiny things land around and on Stan. More people laugh. Hugo picks up a condom from Stan’s back. “Ribbed? Which of you assholes uses ribbed?”

“Some of us like our ladies happy,” someone else calls out. More teasing ignites, though the sound Stan pays attention to is that of a ripping condom wrapper.

“A bit snug,” Hugo says. “It’ll do. Get ready, honey.”

Stan digs his fingernails into a seam between two floorboards and tries to will himself open. The head of Hugo’s cock presses against him, and Stan realizes for the first time that it’s definitely bigger than Jimmy’s. He hasn’t gotten a look at it, but Stan can already tell. It doesn’t slide easily into him. Hugo grunts in frustration and shoves hard.

Stan gasps, and Hugo’s inside him, just the fat head his cock. So far, Stan’s not feeling anything ribbed about it, just huge and painful.

“Christ,” Hugo mutters. He shifts around and knees Stan’s thighs further apart. “You must be used to something smaller.”

That gets the loudest laugh of the room yet. Stan opens his eyes, part of him looking for Jimmy but he can’t see anything but Vince without turning. Stan doesn’t know if Jimmy’s watching this. He must be.

Hugo slides a hand down to press up on Stan’s taint. He rubs it and _oh god_ , despite himself, Stan likes that. He’s always wished Jimmy would do it.

“Come on, honey,” Hugo says. “Let a real man show you how it’s done.” He pushes in further. Stan closes his eyes again and presses his own cheek harder into the floor. Hugo’s so fucking big. Jimmy had felt like a big stretch at the start, but this man’s a goddamn monster. Tears start welling in Stan’s eyes with every new inch. “There’s a girl,” Hugo says.

When Stan feels Hugo’s pelvis against his ass, he gives up on not crying. He sobs with the first thrust. All the thrusts after are met with more sobbing on Stan’s part, and it goes on forever. Stan can’t feel anything other than the cock pistoning in and out of him, and he can’t think of anything else. Hugo is apparently a man of stamina.

He’s also a strangely considerate man, which makes everything worse. His fingers keep playing with Stan’s balls and his taint. Stan’s hard as hell. He’s deeply aware he didn’t get to come earlier, and deep inside him, he keeps feeling the ghost of something good. Sheer size seems to be working in Hugo’s favor because he keeps brushing against that part of Stan Jimmy never pays any damn attention to.

“You feel that, honey?” Hugo grunts. He’s still pounding away with disgusting, slick noises, and Stan at least has to admire the dedication the man has to making this hell drag on. “You like it, don’t you?”

Stan can’t stop crying to tell him to go to hell. Just as well.

But quiet submissiveness apparently isn’t enough here. Hugo smacks Stan’s ass and repeats the question. “Do you like it?”

Stan bites his lip and stays quiet. That gets him a fist yanking his hair like goddamn horse reins, and it’s a new enough pain to make him yell. 

“Answer me,” Hugo says. “Tell me you like it.”

Stan can’t fucking tell him anything. He’s too busy gasping and sobbing like a bitch. Everything hurts and still he’s hard and still _it’s working for him._ With his back arched, he’s getting hit in the good spot more now that he’s ever been before, and it’s getting him off. Hugo the fucking mountain is going to make him come.

On a thrust hard enough to make Stan’s thighs attempt the splits, he hits Stan’s prostate dead on, and Stan moans open mouthed. Hugo laughs.

“There we go. Knew you had it in you. Someone’s not been riding you right,” he says. Stan hears men laugh and call out encouragement. Hugo keeps his hand in Stan’s mullet and keeps fucking him right there, right where Stan loves it.

The pain’s not gone, but it’s not keeping Stan from coming. For the first time, Stan comes from being fucked. Not just a reach around after, but the act of having a cock shoved inside him makes his balls tighten and his dick jerk. He comes all over the bloody floor beneath him, and Hugo tells him he’s a good girl.

It’s only after Stan’s slumped and in the worst afterglow in history that Hugo finally stops and pulls out. He must take off the condom, because the next thing Stan feels is warmth spurting on his ass. Hugo even rubs it in with his giant thumb.

Stan wishes he passed out. Then someone would have to either haul him home or dump him in whatever shallow grave Vince is going in, but Stan’s sadly still very lucid when Hugo slaps his ass and tells him, “Nice ride, honey. Get the hell out of here.’

Stan chokes a little and gingerly sits up. He keeps his eyes on the floor as he stands and pulls his jeans up the best he can with the button missing. Jimmy’s saying something to Croaker, and Croaker’s talking back. Stan doesn’t know what they’re saying. The tones sound genial enough, though. Maybe they’re talking about the weather, for all he knows.

Stan stumbles out of the bar without looking at Jimmy and finds himself in the parking lot with too many of Jimmy’s crew. He can’t look at any of them, so instead he stares out at the countryside and thinks how ugly brown it is. Stan wishes he were at sea.

Some vague time later, a hand comes down on Stan’s shoulder, and Stan jumps. He spins around and finds Juke of the hot rod behind him.

“What?” Stan asks. His voice is a bit of a croak now, too. Maybe Croaker takes it up the ass from his ol’ lady and that’s why he sounds like shit. It unlikely, but the thought amuses Stan.

“Boss says to give you a ride out of here,” Juke says. He’s looking at Stan’s shoulder rather than his face. This either suits Stan just fine or infuriates him. Stan can’t tell which.

He looks around the parking lot. There’s only a handful of the crew left, waiting around on their bikes. Jimmy’s nowhere. Jimmy led him here, and Jimmy’s not enough of a man to talk to him afterwards. That or Jimmy doesn’t fucking care.

 _Everyone knows you’re my favorite._ No. Everyone knows Stan’s a pathetic idiot.

“Yeah, sure,” Stan says to Juke. “Do I have to get in the trunk, too?”

Juke shrugs. “Only if you want to,” he says.

Stan sits in the back. Well, he slumps in the back. He can’t really put any weight on his ass, and he’s still aware of not cleaning up. It wasn’t like he could have used the bathroom in there.

Juke starts the hot rod with a roar, and they pull out. Stan watches the streetlights pass through the window. He counts them as they go, and when he’s hit fifty, he speaks up over the doo-wop music playing on the radio.

“You need gas.”

Juke says, “What?”

“You need gas. You’re running low on gas.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are,” Stan says firmly. Juke looks at him in the rearview mirror, and Stan glares back. “You need gas. Pull over at the next gas station.”

Juke taps out a beat on the steering wheel. Stan thinks maybe he’s going to have to fight about this, but then Juke says, “Oh look, I need gas.”

The car pulls off the road and into a station soon after. Juke does the whole deal of pulling up to a pump and opening the gas cap. Stan climbs out of the back and heads inside as the couple guys riding with Juke’s car pull in and question Juke.

Once Stan’s inside, he finds the attendant and asks, “Hey, restroom?”

The attendant is a weary looking old guy with a squint. Guy looks like he should have been asleep hours ago. He asks, “Paying customer?”

“Buddy’s filling her up right now,” Stan says. He jerks his thumb out the window to Juke and the others. They might a decently intimidating sight, all leather, denim, and patches

The attendant hands Stan a key on a giant paddle and says, “Out back.

Stan takes the key and walks back out. When one of the guys looks up at him, he waves the key and keeps walking.

Behind the station, there’s a station wagon that probably belongs to the old man inside. Stan looks from it to the bathroom and makes a choice. He breaks the passenger window with a rock, unlocks the door, and climbs over the passenger seat to the driver’s. There he hotwires the car and backs up until the car crashes through the fence behind the station. Then he’s in the parking lot of a warehouse of some kind, and he pulls the car around and out through there.

Stan drives out onto the highway and ignores anything that might be a speed limit. His own car’s been sitting in a lot a town over for too long. Stan’s never been much of a biker, really.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I actually really love Stan.
> 
> Also, I know some really cool and lovely bikers who ride for anti-abuse causes. I also once got rescued from having to walk home after missing the last bus by a biker who was high as a kite but otherwise pretty nice. My apologies to both types.


End file.
